


The Alchemist

by K91



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:50:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K91/pseuds/K91
Summary: “When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realise his dream.”This is just a little post "The Undiscovered Country" A/U if/when they ever decide to let themselves be happy.





	1. Chapter 1

As she pulled the car around the curve of the road, a sense of panic entered her. She had tamped down on it the whole four hour drive, refusing to allow it a second thought. This wasn't about her, or him, or them. It was about the poor girl who had sat at the precinct, barely two days ago and poured out every atrocious detail about her captivity. It was a bad case, the kind that a regular prosecutor wouldn't dare to take. But she was determined to get justice for this young woman, this girl really, who had done terrible things along with the men who had held her captive, tormenting her sexually for years while they enlisted her to kidnap other victims for their brutal sex trafficking ring. It wasn't right. She was practically bred for this life. Being the stepdaughter of one of her captors, she had had almost zero chance at life outside of the pain and torment that she had endured. But it was a tough case. She had started befriending and kidnapping new victims when she was just a child, working with her captors to contribute to the suffering of innumerable young women and girls. She also wasn't a particularly sympathetic victim, having hardened herself to the pain long ago. But she was a victim. Olivia had said as much to Jack McCoy, who had regarded her with silent consideration. He had reasonably asked her what her plan was, if she couldn't find an ADA willing to take the case. And her chest had filled with the opportunity of that question. She hadn't even thought about it before she had walked into his office, but there it was, a gift just sitting there. So she took the opportunity. They needed an ADA who was smart enough, brave enough, good enough for this case. So she made the case to enlist Rafael Barba before she had even really thought about it. And she had inadvertently given McCoy the impression that she still had an open line of communication with the former prosecutor. McCoy was agreeable, and acknowledged that Barba had a track record that supported his ability to win the case. He also said that it would be simply idiotic to not try and entice a talented prosecutor back to New York if they could. They both knew that the legal system needed more men like Rafael Barba. So he had wholeheartedly supported the idea of Barba trying the case and returning to the open position of ADA if he was willing. 

She had been optimistic as she had left his office, thinking about the evidence that she would need to compile in order to persuade him, feeling the drive that she hadn't felt since he had walked away from her on that freezing cold day, at the prospect of arguing the merits of a less than stellar case, of working with someone who cared as much as she did, who challenged her, who made her better. She had missed that, missed him, missed who she could be when she was with him. She was a better detective, a better person when he was there.

But now she was nearing this new place that he called home, or at least the place where he was currently living, and she realized that she hadn't spoken to him in over a year. She only followed along with his whereabouts through small snippets of conversation about him, when people would casually mention that he was in Cuba, in Miami, at the border, working for immigrants. He had landed at Brown University months ago, having come back to the area to teach. She had heard he was back through a casual remark made by Rita Calhoun, after she had arrived late to a meeting wearing a black dress, apologizing and briefly offering an explanation before she sat down and tore into Liv's victim, and Peter's case. Peter had done well, and held his own, but he simply packed up his things after he had pointed out the merits of the case, saying everything the way Olivia could have written it, and left after a brief goodbye. She had sat there, contemplative for the rest of the afternoon, feeling a mixture of grief, anger and gut wrenching sympathy.

And now she was here, with no idea what she would say to him. She had never really had to think about what she would to say to him before. Conversation, words in general, had just flowed between them, effortless. She had always assumed that that was due to him. He always had a thought or remark ready, and it had always inspired her own. But now she didnt know what she was going to encounter, how he was going to react to seeing her, and that left her utterly unprepared for how to approach this.

As she pulled up the gravel driveway, she caught sight of the large wood home with the sun setting behind it. It was gorgeous, with trees and grass surrounding it on three sides. She had never seen his home, or wherever he lived, before. She suspected that this was an intentional move on his part, as he always kept just a small part of his life from even her. It always left her questioning whether or not he felt their connection as deeply as she did. This is why she had been so shocked on the courthouse steps when he had come so close to saying exactly what she felt. But he didn't. He had practically told her that he wouldn't. Begged her, with three words, not to herself. And she understood. She understood the self loathing, the sheer overwhelming feelings of unworthiness, because she felt them too. Had always felt them. So she had acquiesced, and let him walk away. She hoped that he could find it in himself to understand that he deserved everything. But then he disappeared. He never made contact, or reached out, not even when... well it wasn't for her to be angry about that. It wasn't her pain, her tragedy. She understood that, better than anyone, because she understood him. In the year and half since he had left, she had come to understand him even better, as the distance had allowed her to mull over every innocuoty, every aspect of who he was, until she felt like she could write the book on Rafael Barba. A poor boy, with big words and no braun, who had grown into a man with big words that felt compelled to eradicate that small boy from existence, living with the constant shame of that fact. A Cuban man who felt as though he was masquerading as a caucasian man. She watched for over six years as he was torn between feeling as though he had to reject his past in order to achieve his goals, and the shame he battled because of this belief. He was a man in permanent exodus, and he had not yet returned home. He never felt like enough, and the thought alone broke her heart, because she knew the feeling well. She knew him, and her endless compassion extended to him, even while she battled with her own feelings of rejection. He had never called her, not once. People had kept up with him. At least casually, incrementally. Rita Calhoun had clearly known enough about where he was, if not intimately. Never intimately with him. Except her. At least for a time.

She slowed the car to a stop, taking in the large wooden home, the deck that wrapped around the side of its structure. The home was romantic, with clean lines and big picture windows. Leave it to him to not just live in a house, but to live in the kind of house that other people dreamed about. Rafael Barba didn't do anything halfway. She spotted a car at the side of the house, vaguely wondered when he had learned to drive. If that was even his car. She missed him. Shaking her head, she straightened her jacket and reached for the folder that had the case evidence in it. Practically a challenge, a bribe for him. She hoped he hadn't changed so much that the challenge of it all wouldn't entice him. She would just need to convince him that he could do this. She could still do that. She still had that power. 

Getting out of the car she headed for the steps of the porch, walking up them and toward the front door. It was late, the sun was setting. She hesitated one step from the top, suddenly overwhelmed by physical, sickening nerves. She had literally stared death in the face, interrogated people who had done unspeakable things to other people, and here she was, physically fighting the urge to be sick at the prospect of coming face to face with a man that she had once regarded as her closest confidante. A man that was her friend, who had become her family. She tried not to overthink their dynamic, because she honestly knew that if she overthought it she wouldn't be able to function, and she had to endure, but honestly, she had never felt so overwhelmed by someone's regard until Rafael Barba had walked into her life. She had experienced deep connections, great loves even, but she had never felt so seen until he looked at her. She had been loved, but he loved her for everything that she was, not simply for what she did or what she looked like. She wasn't blind, and she had been fairly certain that his feelings had drifted toward something closer to romantic at a certain point, but it was his sheer ability to love things about her that she didn't even know existed until he so clearly saw her that threw her. His eyes. One look and she always knew exactly what he was feeling. She wouldn't profess to always know precisely what he was thinking, because his mind worked in ways that continually fascinated her, but the always contained Rafael Barba gave away every emotion with those green eyes. One flick of his eyes and she could see the conflict, the pain and his love. For her. Sometimes it was wonder, confusion, and sometimes, he would look at her like she had moved him beyond words. She always tucked those moments into her heart to savor later. But since he had left she had stopped feeling him when she thought of him, because she had to endure. It was only in the rare times, when she was caught off guard by someone's passing comment "I'm sorry I'm late, I was at a funeral, I'm sure you heard," that she was nearly knocked off her feet by the force of missing him. Because oh, she missed him. She missed those sneers and smirks and his freaking eyes. She missed his smell and his voice and the way he moved. She missed the way scotch smelled once it had mixed with the scent of him, creating a new and tantalizing smell that she would sit just a little closer to in order to take in. She missed throwing out comments that she knew would irritate him, just to watch his reactions. Sometimes she would even allow herself to say something, "what if it was cancer" just to hear the reply that she knew he would snap back with, "oh that's not the same thing." Because she found his irritation vaguely irresistible. She found him irresistible. And she was now quite certain that he felt the same way. So he had left, before their relationship had further clouded his motivations and his judgement. She felt the familiar bubble of anger at that thought, and it was enough to propel her up the last step and toward the door. 

And then she saw him. 

He was standing on the side of the porch, and the setting sun had partially silhouetted him to her. But it was him. She could find him anywhere. The way he stood, slightly away from her, his hips forward, shoulders back. His left shoulder dipped just a little bit, his right shoulder just slightly higher. As she moved just a little closer, she could see that he was still dressed from work, white shirt with rolled sleeves tucked into dark pants, suspenders but no tie. He had a small glass of scotch in his hand, and he was frowning at the sunset like only he could. He was right there, and she felt the inexplicable desire to cry. To maybe hit him. And to put her hands on him. Run her fingers through his silver hair and touch his face, to feel his shoulders under her hands. They had rarely touched eachother in the six years that they had worked together. They had only hugged a handful of times, and she had never been in the position where touching his face or his hair was permitted. But oh she had wanted to. The desire always snuck up on her, knocking her off her feet when she wasn't expecting it. They could be in the middle of an argument, him frustratingly running his hand through his hair in order to stave off the migraine that she was causing, and she would suddenly have to fight the urge to feel his hair in her fingers. He would be avoiding her gaze, pretending that he hadn't intentionally thrown a case in an elevator full of jurors, and she could practically feel the skin of his jaw in her hands, fighting her desire to smooth that frown away. It had taken her the year since he had left, but she had finally figured out what was so profoundly different about him. He had loved her. She had been loved before, by Brian and Tucker and maybe even Elliot. She had loved. But he loved her as a verb. While every other man who had come into her life had loved Olivia, Barba had loved her with every action, every word. He actively loved her, and had allowed it to change him. And that love had broken him.

She moved closer to him, overwhelmed by the sheer sight of him. He was so, so him. There he was. The setting was wrong, the light too bright, with too many trees and too much nature, but he was still him, suspenders and scotch and all. She let out a breath that she hadn't even realized she had been holding. She hadn't known what to expect, but there he was, strong shoulders, contemplative frown, and big hand wrapped around his glass. The force of her love hit her square in her stomach and she just stared for a minute, taking the moment that his distraction allowed. She was honest enough, brave enough to admit that she loved him. She was in love with him. But she was also old enough to know that love wasn't always enough. That they were two people who had been irrevocably changed by the other, but that you can't always go back, and you can't always have what you want just because you want it. So she allowed herself this brief moment to just look at him. To feel what she felt without the distraction of their circumstances. He was still, never moving the drink to his mouth, while the breeze moved the hair on his forehead back a little bit. She became vaguely aware that he sensed someone's presence, but she simply waited for him to turn, selfishly giving herself a few more moments to just stare at him. 

He looked in her direction in degrees, coming out of his thoughts (there were always so many in his brain) and his eyes rested on her. His frown relaxed, and there it was. That look. Possibly her favorite one he wore. Because she had never seen him look at anyone else this way. It was the expression that was only for her. His eyes trained on her and the lines on his handsome face incrementally relaxed, not smiling, but brighter. It was the face that he made when she had done something that baffled him, or moved him. The one that he made when he wouldn't smile, but he wanted to. His internal smile that was only for her. She was knocked off her feet by it, that face that she had recreated in her mind but hadn't seen since those eyes had looked into hers and he had told her that he had to move on, that he had to leave her. The anger punched into her for just a second, and it kept the tears from spilling over. She was grateful for the anger. Because she had very nearly dropped the file and run toward him, and that wouldn't have been good for either of them, who had worked this whole time to keep it together, to keep it contained. 

Still staring at her, his mouth quirked up just a tiny bit on one side. 

"How did you find me?" He questioned, turning so his whole body faced her. 

Maybe, just maybe, they could go back.

"Dont ask questions that you already know the answer too," her voice was too lose, not stable enough. She hated that she couldn't just pop back into his life like she was walking into his office. She hated that this couldn't be easy, that he had ruined that, that they had ruined that. By falling in love with eachother. She was angry, angry at herself and him and them for being stupid enough to fall in love with eachother and stupid enough to stay in love with eachother. Because she was still in love with him. And she was pretty sure he was still in love with her by the way his whole face betrayed him. She would never understand how people could describe such an open and vulnerable face as cold or calculating, until it had dawned on her that he wasn't like that with, well anyone now, except her. She took a breath and extended the file like an olive branch.

"You need to come home now," she said it matter of factly, as though she weren't standing on the porch of a home that he owned, and he wasn't standing there dressed for a job that he had just come from. The semantics didn't matter, they never really had. Not between them. It had always been a struggle between what he had known, and what she had known to be right. They had sometimes switched their stances, trading their beliefs until what he felt became what she felt and what she knew had become what he knew. And that had been what had ruined them. She had ruined him. Or he at least felt that way. Because he felt ruined. Broken. Her heart cracked a little looking into his handsome face. He would do whatever she had asked of him, and she knew that. She had never abused that, but it had ruined him anyway, because he loved her in action, as a verb. Now here she was, after he had left her, after he had surrendered his right to love her, asking him. Breaking all their rules. She only hoped that that very fact wouldn't send him off, running from her because she had committed an act that had broken the spell and ended his fascination with her. 

He continued to stare at her, not reaching for the file but looking her full in her face, his head tilted just slightly while that internal smile played on his tired face. He loved her still. She felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to move into his space, smell him and that scotch mixed together, to let her fingers slide over the shirt that he was wearing, because she already knew exactly how it would feel, having let her hand drift to his arm or his shoulder as she made a point or unnecessarily guided him into a room. She used to find those small excuses to briefly touch him because if she didn't stave off the urge occasionally she would do something that they both knew was a bad idea. 

"Hello to you too. What is that?" He asked wearily. He glanced at the familiar dark green folder, back up to her face. His eyes had barely left her face since he had become aware of her presence.

They both knew what it was. It was why he suddenly seemed slightly agitated. Another person wouldn't have noticed the shift, but she felt it in the very air around them. His shoulders stiffened, aligned. A sure sign that he was no longer at ease. His jaw tightened, chin came up, just slightly. And he took a sip from the glass, a tell that he needed a second to steady himself. She still knew everything about him, she could still watch him all day and not get bored. 

"You know what it is," she looked him dead on, challenging him. He needed the challenge. He needed her.

"No." He half pleaded it, half barked it. But his eyes were already swimming, practically begging her to let this go. And she loved him so she almost did. This hurt her, hurt her pride to ask something of him that he didn't want to give, to be the one to give in, to beg. But it wasn't about him, or her, or them. It was about what they could do. Together. 

He was slowly stepping backward, as though to physically put distance between them. The pain kicked into her stomach. She knew he was resisting her, but she was so tired of being resisted. If this were simpler, if they were simpler, her love and his love would be beautiful. It was beautiful, but that didn't make it whole. He loved her and that's exactly what he was afraid of. He was afraid of what she had done to him, of the man that he was becoming when he was with her, because he had worked so hard and so long to turn off those pieces of himself. And even though she didnt know every detail of why, she knew that he still felt like the poor Cuban kid with the abusive father in the wrong neighborhood and that he was so ashamed of his own shame that it was easier not to feel. Not because he had said it, but because she had felt it from him, because she was as fascinated by him as he was by her so she had paid attention to the details of his life, at least the small ones that she had gleaned from their time together. 

"Barba,"

his last name felt foreign on her lips. He felt it too, because he flinched, just a little. He stopped moving, looked her square in her eye. There it was. She had challenged him, just by saying his name. He didn't have to say it, but it was there, in his gaze. She held out the folder.

He walked toward her, determined now, and she briefly thought that he was going to kiss her. He took the folder. Her legs felt lose. 

He flicked it open, ran through the pages, taking in the photos and documents quickly. She was so tired she could fall asleep. 

He glanced up, hair falling just a bit over his forehead.

"Tell me." 

She fought the urge to kiss him again. Swallowed it whole. She was out of practice, not as prepared to fend off the affect that he had on her. But she squared her shoulders, and told him the facts of the case, all while staring slightly to his right in order to avoid those intense and sad green eyes that were boring into her. Oh God she loved him. She knew that, had acknowledged it pretty much the moment that he started to talk about colors, but she hadn't had to test herself with him until this moment. She had only the memory of his voice, his words and those green eyes to contend with, but now that she was faced with him, standing there with his right hand holding that stupid glass and his left acting as a table for the open file, hair falling just slightly onto his furrowed brow, his handsome, puzzled, and just a bit angry face looking at her, she was knocked off her feet by how powerless she was in this. She loved him, wholly, without reservation. Is this how he had felt, that whole time? God this was awful. She stopped talking, and really just looked at him. She knew that he had left for multiple reasons, and that many of them had nothing to do with her. She knew that he didn't love himself, or believe in himself the way that she did. But she had never considered that when he left that he was running from the sheer powerlessness of his love for her. That this felt, frankly, awful. Because she would set someone on fire right now if he asked her to. "Have you ever been in love like that?" She hadn't, though at the time she thought that she had. He had even stated that he had, though in the fever pitch of youth. But she was sure, absolutely sure that she felt it now. And her anger toward him, and his abandonment, dissipated in that moment. Because she understood now. She loved him, loved him beyond what was reasonably sane and she had no power over it. She loved him, and she couldn't imagine how she had ever done anything to deserve his love in return. He was so extraordinary, so special, that there was no way in her mind that she deserved anyone as special as the man standing in front her, having an identical battle between his anger and his pain. His longing. 

"Shouldnt your new ADA be prosecuting this?" 

There it was. The sass. His face hadn't changed, it still looked like she could push down his walls if she was brave enough to try. But his voice was imbued with that sardonic twist it got when his mind was behind his instincts. He was angry, and sarcastic. So he knew who "her" ADA was. And he was mad about it. His right hand closed, the file slapping shut in his hand. She tilted her head, staring at him. Some of the fight deflated out of him right then. 

"He wouldn't take it. No one would. This is your case. McCoy agrees."

He peeked at her eyes at that, up through his lashes, his head still tilted just a little toward the floor. There was the urge again, to touch him, feel him under hands, know that he was here with her. 

She took her opening, feeling guilty for playing dirty.

"You gonna invite me in, or are we going to stand on your porch in the pitch dark," she widened her eyes a little, lifting her brows, mocking him, just a little.

He smiled, just a little. She physically felt herself melt. Maybe he was playing dirty a little too. 

"Fine, but you're drinking scotch," he tucked the file under his arm and walked toward the door on the side of the porch.


	2. Chapter 2

She entered the house behind him, taking advantage of the transit to smell him as he walked in. Scotch, both what was in his hand and what was ingratiated into him. Something clean, she had always suspected the soap that he used. And that spice, maybe a cologne or aftershave, that hadn't changed since he had left. But there was something new mixed in, maybe fresh air or pine. Something clean. She wanted to burrow into that smell, and shocked herself with her own acknowledgement of it. She wanted him. She wanted to crawl into him, stay there. She had known that she was in love with him in a peripheral, unacknowledged way. But now that she was here, and he was right there, she just felt that longing in a way that she was just too tired to fight anymore. She wanted all of him. She wanted to fight with him, to kiss him, be alone with him and feel him. She wanted his temper and his stubborn nature and his inability to see the value in others' perspectives. She knew him more intimately than anyone she had ever known, and she knew that he wasn't perfect, but she wanted all of it. Every piece of him. So it broke her heart to know that he viewed himself as unworthy of her. That he thought that he was broken, simply because he had fallen in love with her.

He walked across the the open living space and into the kitchen, opening the cupboards for another glass. She looked around at the his home, taking in the details. The large windows brought the night into the house, the stars illuminating the heavy furniture, the fireplace. Bookcases lined many of the walls with beautiful books that she imagined he had already read lining them. The house was beautiful. Romantic. It wasn't what she expected, because he belonged in the city, coffee in hand, on the way to something, but it was strangely... him. It was tasteful and romantic and a little dramatic. She loved it, and knew why anyone would want to spend the rest of their days there. 

"Your house is beautiful, Rafa,"

His head snapped up from pouring her the scotch that they both knew she would barely drink. He looked into her eyes, and now she was sure. He was fighting this just as hard as she was. Fighting the desire that was pulling at him to take her and never let her go. Her whole stomach rose to her throat, and she knew that there was a small, and very thin line between them and both of their desires. If she moved, even just a little, she would start something that was boiling inside of her. Oh she wanted to, but her eyes landed on the file that was just near his fisted hand. She took a breath.

"I spoke to McCoy yesterday. He agrees that you're one of the only people that can take this to trial. He wants you back." I want you back.

"Does he want me back or did you convince him that I could come back? The distinction is important," he began to pour her drink again, the energy in the air dissipating for the time being.

"He does. Says that the judicial system needs men like you. It does." 

He glanced back up again, slid the glass across the kitchen counter, careful to keep the kitchen island between them.

"I have a job, Liv, commitments. I can't just run off because you asked," 

There was the barest of edges in his voice, the squaring of his shoulders. He was resisting her. She was angry for just a moment. How dare he get angry. She wasn't asking him to the goddamn prom, she was asking him to use his gifts to help a victim for God's sake. She was asking him because she knew that he could do this, that he was the only one that could help this girl, win this case, and set the precedent for the next girl, the next victim. He wasn't allowed to be scared, he wasn't allowed to hesitate when he had the ability that no one else had. He didn't get to just hang up, give in, take a rest. This was what he did, he fought and he won. 

Something clicked into her brain at that moment. Maybe it was her own indignation, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, craving exactly what he saw in her face and terrified when he found it. She understood that he had run because of exactly this. She had faith in him, and he had none in his own humanity. She knew of his bravado and and that he even had confidence in his abilities. Everything that everyone else saw. But she saw him. And she knew that he didn't think that he was enough, and the fact that she did terrified him. There it went again. Another little piece of her heart reaching out away from her, and floating to him. She took a breath, and tucked her faith in him, her love for him away. Arranged her face. Pulled back her desires and hope.

"I know. But this case is going to be big. The Feds have gotten hold of it, because the trafficking ring extends deep, and its important that this victim be removed from the narrative. I think we can both agree that if she's named a perp and only a perp, that it sends a clear message that as long as victims break the law that their status as victim is no longer relevant. And it is, Barba. You know that."

He looked down at the file, peeked back up at her. His hand stroked the file, as though he was trying to get a feel for it through osmosis. His bit his lip. He was tempted, she could tell. He was shattered in a way that took her breath away, but he was still him. He still couldn't turn down an unwinnable fight. He still couldn't turn down her.

"What else do you have? I took one glance, and I can tell you that this isn't enough."

Her face broke into a smile and his immediately cracked, the small grin lining his features, Flowing up into his eyes. Oh how she had missed that smile. His conspiratorial grin, like they were in a fight together against everyone else.

"You barely looked at it. Go through the facts like the prosecutor that you are and you'll see that I'm handing you a damn good, airtight case that you can win if you fight hard enough." 

His eyebrow cocked at that. He knew her as well as she knew him, and he knew when she was deliberately challenging him. Without breaking eye contact, he flipped the folder open. Her body warmed a little, and she felt the familiar confidence that she used to whenever he would begin examining a case with her. She felt like herself again. The feeling carried her to the stool of the kitchen island, grabbing the drink he pushed toward her. They fell into it effortlessly. Him shaking a photograph at her, her incredulously explaining that he was wrong about something, that she was right. When he laughed at her reasoning, she almost slapped him. She settled for implying that maybe it was his abilities that weren't up to snuff. He countered with logic, using case law to drill his point home while she rolled her eyes and reasserted the victims rights. It felt good. She felt good. She drank too much scotch, yelled too loudly, and as they continued to debate the case, she moved closer to him. After what seemed like forever, she glanced at the clock. She didn't want to break the spell of this, because she was now painfully aware that she should appreciate every moment she had with him, but the scotch bottle was dangerously close to being empty and both of his elbows were anchored to the counter, as were her own. They were drunk, and she was so close to him that she could smell every part of him. The scotch on his mouth, the aftershave on his jaw. That new smell, the one that reminded her of clean air, or freshness, that clung to his shirt. His arm was barely an inch from hers, and everytime he shifted, even just a little, it wafted toward her. He was so potent. That was possibly one of her favorite things about him. There was nothing subtle about Rafael Barba. He went nowhere quietly, he did everything in grand style. The way he dressed, the way he argued in court or professed his love for her. He loved her, and he loved her uniquely because he was unique. He loved her in action. She was drunk enough that almost every reservation she had slipped from her. She slid her elbows across the counter a little, letting some documents scoot across the tile. He was unabashedly staring at her, seemingly as brave as she was now that the scotch bottle was nearly empty. 

"Where have you been all this time?" 

There faces were inches from one another.

He swallowed a little, glancing down toward her mouth and back up to her eyes.

"I wandered for a little while, had no real plans. While I was in Cuba I met up with a friend from school who had started a nonprofit that's dedicated to aiding immigrants seeking asylum. So I spent some time in Miami, and then Texas working to offer legal aid to the organization. I was offered a position at Brown so I came back." 

She looked him square on, taking in his whole, tired and lined, handsome face. She reached out a little, only touching the collar of his shirt. She wouldn't dare touch anywhere else, knowing how weak they both were to this.

"Rafael, I'm so sorry about your mother."

She didn't say that it hurt her that he never told her, even now. She didn't say that it hurt to find out from Rita Calhoun, casually mentioning that Rafael Barba's mother had died, and that she was late because she had been attending the wake. 

He looked at her, all of it sitting right there in those big green eyes. He didn't say that he couldn't tell her, because if he told her she would have come, and if she had come he would have broken under the weight of her love and grief and comfort. He had to make arrangements, planning his mother's funeral because she had made no plans herself. She had always felt indestructible. He had always thought she was. She had gone in her sleep, much the same way her mother had. He hadn't gotten to say goodbye. He hadn't gotten to tell her how much he loved her, how sorry he was for everything, and how he had always and would probably continue to always strive for her approval. Her pride. He had made the arrangements, delivered a beautiful eulogy for his indestructible mother and stood at her wake blandly smiling as her innumerable friends, her community, gathered to honor his incredible mother. And he had kept it together because he internalized it all, tucking it into the places that no one could see. He didn't say any of this, because she already knew it all.

She saw. Her brown eyes were filled with the tears that had already burned into his soul, the ones that he couldn't shed. Her hand came out, stroking along his face. He leaned into it, closing his eyes just in time to see the tears, for him, spilling out of hers. She shifted around the counter, joining their bodies together. Each of them tucked their faces into the other one's neck. Inhaled. They stayed like that for a long time, their bodies joined and their muffled tears mixing with one another. Her hands stroked up his neck and into his hair, finally feeling it against her fingertips. She stroked his neck as his hands rubbed up and down her lower back, offering his own comfort for her pain, each apologizing to the other without any words. His face turned into hers, and their lips met in the kiss that had nearly happened a thousand times. He deepened the kiss first, tightening his hold on her as his lips caught hers harder and his tongue entered her mouth. It may have been the alcohol, or it may have been the action of a thousand feelings and thoughts that had floated between them, but she whimpered just a little bit against him, pushing her hips into his. She was offering all the comfort she had to give. She was giving him everything, and just in this moment, he was too weak not to take it. He forgot about the thousand reasons that he didn't deserve her, the thousands of ways this would only hurt them both. They were already hurt. He had tried to avoid the pain by avoiding her altogether, and in doing so had hurt the person that he was trying to protect. So he stopped thinking, grabbed hold of her hips and pushed her into the counter, continuing to kiss her. Her hands held his collar, desperately tugging him closer. He pushed her shirt up, untucking it to get his hands inside, feeling her soft and warm skin. She felt his low groan against her mouth. Her hands went from his soft hair, pulling at his shirt blindly while they continued to kiss eachother. As his mouth trailed a little to her jaw, her neck, it burned her skin a little with his day's worth of stubble. She moved her hands from his loosened shirt to pull at his suspenders. She made a small noise as his stubble brushed her collar bone, and he obliged her by reaching down and unhooking the suspenders so they fell behind him, still attached at the back. He never stopped his assault on her, kissing and nipping at her neck. Her pace picked up, ravenous for the feel of him. She pulled his shirt from his pants, snaking one hand inside, unsatisfied when she felt the thin cotton of his warm undershirt on his back.   
His mouth moved back to hers and she was distracted by the intense kiss, her hands sliding from his back to grab handfuls of his shirt. They stayed there, his hips pinning her to the counter, her hands fisted into his shirt, their mouths locked until they broke for air. His forehead pressed into hers, his hips still heavily pressed against her. They breathed deeply, and he was the first one to let out a small chuckle. Despite the charged air, she did as well. Her hands loosened on his shirt, smoothing up to his shoulders. 

"Huh," was all he could manage.

She smiled. "Huh," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

They stayed like that for a moment, looking into each other's eyes with those thousands of feelings. Love, arousal, anger, grief, even amusement. It was all there. They didn't need to say it. He slid his nose down her neck, faintly touching his lips to her skin. She moved her hips against his. She could feel his arousal against her. She deeply wanted this, wanted to finally fully acknowledge what was between them. 

"Liv."

He had barely whispered it in her ear. His cheek was against hers, lips to her ear. He pulled back, rested his head against hers. Looked into her eyes. She knew what was there. He didn't need to say it.

"I can't come back." 

Her whole body sank. 

"I know." 

She did. She had known the whole time. She had known standing in McCoy's office, on the drive up here. Because she knew him. She knew that it had taken everything he had to walk away, and that he wouldn't abandon what he was doing now. It wasn't who he was. Not even for her.

He was easing back, his hands sliding down her body, but his hips remained connected to her. He had told her because he would never take from her without her knowing what he could give. He wouldn't sleep with her and then reveal that he couldn't be hers. It wasn't who he was. The love that settled in her rose up. Her affection for him had her smiling. She pulled him back toward her by his shirt front. His eyebrow raised.

"Where are you going? I know every reason why we can't. So do you. Why can't we just give ourselves one night?" 

He didn't even hesitate before his mouth was on her's again, his whole body taught and ready for her. He pulled back just a little.

"You're sure?" Those eyes were an inch from hers, and the absurdity of the question had her smiling, allowing a few tears to spill from her eyes.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure." 

He was back, kissing her breathless and running his hands over her body, under her shirt. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, shakily undoing them until he got impatient and tugged the last two buttons off their thread, discarding the shirt in a pool behind him. She had her fingers under his undershirt, his warm stomach against the backs of her knuckles, pushing the shirt up over his head and onto the floor. It pushed the back of his hair up some, and her fingers warred between their desire for his hair and his body. His body won the split second conflict, her hands running up his stomach and onto his chest. He smiled a little against her mouth, and she faintly registered that he was ticklish. She smiled too. His hand unclasped her bra, the straps falling down her shoulders a little. She made a small noise as his hands found her breasts, rubbing over her nipples with his thumbs. He groaned. 

She was suddenly desperate to have all of her clothing off, and all of his off. She wanted to feel all of him against all of her. She frantically looked around, saw the stairs and realized that his bedroom was likely upstairs. That wouldn't work. She pushed off from the counter, her fingers still roaming his chest, her mouth still on his. His hands were still on her, up her shirt, thumbs now stroking over her nipples rhythmically. The hard nubs were so sensitive that she felt the pull of her desire in her stomach, and the shiver went up her spine. 

"I need you now," 

Was that her whining? His hands trailed around her from her breasts to her back, kissing her as he moved them from the counter. She whimpered. 

Yes, that was her. He broke the kiss, and her hands went to his hair, anchoring him a little. She didn't want anymore distance than was necessary. He blindly assessed the living situation in the same way she had, and his eyes landed on the overstuffed couch. It was going to have to be enough.

He all but pushed her onto it, and she pulled him with equal abandon, so they both landed on it harshly. He was unbelting his pants, kneeling in front of her, his mind thoroughly preoccupied by getting the garment off quickly, and the air was momentarily knocked out of her. She just stared, looking at his intense face, his neat hair sticking up in places as his hands pulled the belt from his waist, bringing her back momentarily to one of the first times she had ever met him, watching him remove his belt in a court of law while she wondered who the hell he even thought he was. Oh she loved him. She was fully in love with him and the urge to cry hit her like a ton of bricks. She bit it down, allowing herself this one night of abandonment with the man she loved, with her bestfriend, before reality forced them to deal with all of it. 

He was working on his pants when he glanced up at her. She reached up, momentarily forgetting about the task of removing her clothes, and pulled him down for another kiss. He rocked against her, and she could feel his erection, hard and ready, against her hips. His hands pulled back to his own pants, hers removing her own, when he grabbed her panties and slid them down her legs. She shuddered just having his fingers brush her skin, skimming down her thighs until he pulled her panties past her her feet and just sort of chucked them behind him. She laughed out loud, he cracked a smile. Crushed his mouth against hers as his hand met her, fingers sliding into her to find her hot and wet and ready. He groaned, working his fingers into her tightness while she fully whimpered against his mouth, her hips working. He pulled her shirt off, removing the bra that was simply dangling from her shoulders, and affixed his mouth to her breast, working his tongue against her hardened nipple. His hand went back to her core and he pushed his thumb against her clitoris, his fingers pushing back into her as his thumb worked in a slow circle. He was utterly enthralled by her body, working her until her moans turned into whines, and she turned her head to the side, whimpering his name into his ear as her hips pumped against his hand.

He lost any ounce of control he had. He was already positioned between her legs, so he used his hips to push her legs up. She could feel his erection against her core, and she pushed her hips up, locking eyes with him. A challenge. He flexed his hips, his eyes on her as he fully entered her. She gasped. Immediately she pushed up her hips, working against him until he groaned. Using his own hips to pin her to the couch, his mouth found her throat, using his teeth and tongue against her pulse point as she desperately ground herself against him, her hands running up and down his back. He began to move, sliding his hands up her body until they pushed her arms above her head, pinning her hands there. She locked eyes with him, letting him grind himself deeply into her as she lifted her knees to take him even deeper. He watched her as he rhythmically slammed into her, the only noise the sounds of their labored breathing. As she tightened around him, her breathing gave way to small whimpers, and she let out small cries, begging him, her hips now pumping wildly. She bit her lips as he hit the perfect spot, letting go of her hands to push her legs upward, angling so he continued to hit that spot as she completely lost herself to the orgasm. She rocked, and whimpered, twisting her face in ecstasy. The noises that she made, his name on her lips and her muscles tightening around him with the force of her orgasm broke him. He buried his face in her neck and pumped himself into her, groaning as he spilled everything that he had into her. Her hips slowed and his weight fell to her, absolutely powerless to brace himself. Her hand roamed up his back, tracing patterns against his skin. 

A few minutes later, he heard it from her.

"Huh." She sounded absolutely exhausted, sated.

He smiled into her neck.

"Huh," he agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

She rolled over a little in his bed. The room was filled with light, but she knew it couldn't be fully morning yet. He had no curtains, so the light was streaming in through the wall of windows and doors that led to his second floor balcony. His room was as romantic and perfect as the rest of the house, with views of the trees and a peak of blue sky outside the windows. She rolled away from the windows. Turned toward him. He was fully asleep, one eye lost in the pillows, and the other closed to the world. One shoulder was jammed under his pillow, his hand obscured from view. His other hand was extended across the bed, landing just in front of her stomach. She ran her hand up it, going over his arm, and on to his shoulder. He was naked, and his muscled shoulder felt warm and solid under her hand. He didn't even stir under her touch. She vaguely remembered that he was a poor sleeper, often drinking coffee and popping migraine pills to stave off his exhaustion. She smiled a little as she rubbed her fingers into his hair. She was a little smug. She had fucked him into a deep sleep, moving from the couch to the bed, and continuing their love making into the night, breaking for sleep as they needed it. They had finally fallen asleep for the last time, sweating and twisted against eachother, a few hours ago. They were making the most of their time. Even now, her body aching and her mind fogged, she had the urge to wake him, fuck him again. Her whole body begged her not to, but also begged her to. She ran her fingers over his cheek, down his nose. She squirmed a little closer, placing her forehead inches from his. He stirred just a little, moving his arm blindly to pull her against him, his hand on her waist. She fought the urge to rouse him again, placed her hand on his back, aligning her nose with his, and watched him sleep until she drifted back off herself.

When she woke again, it was later, and he was no longer in the bed. She rolled a little, smelling him on his side of the bed as she sat up, pulling the sheets with her. The room was sort of disheveled, as she imagined she was. Blankets spilled off the bed, her clothes were nowhere to be found. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing 10 o'clock. She smirked a little. It seemed they had fucked eachother into sleep. She saw a faded Harvard t-shirt and a pair of dark gold boxers folded at the edge of the bed. She grabbed them as she stood and headed into the ensuite. 

The bathroom was huge, with a large tub and two sinks. The mirror was a little misty, revealing his recent shower. She smiled at her own reflection. Man, she looked, well, rested. And rumpled. She stepped into the glass shower, and washed her body, stepping out to grab the towel that smelled like him. She indulged herself and smelled it as she dried, giving way to the slight giddiness that she had allowed herself, to have this, him, if only briefly. She pulled on the clothes he had left for her, smelling that unique smell that was him, minus the clean air smell. Inhaled. And went to go find him, taking in the rest of the home as she went. 

It was gorgeous, and more fitting for him than she had originally assessed. The open second floor landing gave a view of the bottom floor, with all its wood and books and windows. The top floor had a few doors, and she resisted the urge to poke her head into them, to find the spaces that he inhabited. She made her way down the stairs. She could hear him. He was moving around the kitchen, and when she rounded the corner he was closing the lid to his coffee machine, hair wet, shirt sticking to him just a little after his shower, grey pants sitting loosely on his hips. She was exhausted, and he looked it as well, but there it was again, the desire to start it all over again. She grabbed the counter, forced herself to resist, but allowed herself the pleasure of watching him, just as she had done the night before.

He looked completely different, the tension gone from his body, as it had been practically coiled when she had arrived. His left shoulder was dipped, just a little below his right, legs a little parted as he stood in front of the coffee maker, willing it to work faster. He was frowning, but the frown was different, less pained, less agonized. His hand came up, long finger reaching toward the machine. He nudged it a little, as though his impatience would inspire it. Her smile cracked across her whole face, and she walked up behind him, sliding her hands around him to rub his stomach, her fingers pressing into the damp cotton. Her chin met his shoulder, and she indulged herself in hugging him.

"Good morning," she knew he would be happy that she was there, she knew she didn't have to hold back, or play it cool. They didn't need any of that.

He relaxed entirely, and she felt rather than actually saw him smile, his back pressing into her, his body reacting to her presence.

"Enjoy your beauty sleep?" She could hear the smirk, and smell his shower on him. She smiled a little into his back. The bastard was awake barely twenty minutes before her, but he was going to be smug about it. She supposed she had been too. 

"Yeah. I fell back asleep waiting for you to wake up. But you were out like a light." 

That earned her a small chuckle, and they spent the ten minutes the coffee took to brew teasing eachother in the bright kitchen, him turning so that they could face eachother, hands rubbing at eachother's sides. He didn't mention the job that he wasn't leaving for, and she didn't mention hers, though they both knew the other was shirking responsibilities. She had texted Lucy this morning, checked to make sure that she had picked Noah up from his sleepover. She had already emailed Fin, took the personal day. They didn't talk about it, not wanting to break the spell, but it was tacitly agreed upon that neither was hurrying to get dressed, rush out the door, and off to their lives. 

One more day of this. One more day of allowing themselves eachother before reality set back in. They took their coffee outdoors, he grabbed the case file with him, but left it on the porch at a small table. It mattered to them both and that was part of why she loved him, but they wandered in their pajamas, to the grass, walking together without shoes, his hand holding hers. She was, quite literally, too happy. They drank their coffee as they walked. God they must have done this a thousand times, drinking coffee as their shoulders bumped, marching off to the next thing. But this was different. She was only wearing his clothes, and their shoulders bumped, but their hands were also joined and they were headed nowhere, just walking the property of his gorgeous home. She looked over at him, and her stomach twisted at the look on his face. His relaxed and open and happy face. She put that look there. The power of that moved her, and she slowed her lazy pace, her hand in his until he turned and looked her, his mouth twitching into a full grin. 

She shrugged a little, shook her head.

"I really love you, you know?"

He smiled, tilted his head, and gave her the slightest nod.

His throat cleared a little, and he peaked into his nearly empty cup, peeked back up at her.

"I think I always knew that. But I couldn't understand why. Because I think you're perfect." He smirked. "Not flawless." He snorted a little, she grinned, resisted the slight urge to slap him a little. "But perfect. You are perfect, because you see so clearly in a way that forced me to see more clearly." His voice cracked a little. His eyes were big, and filled with moisture and she momentarily panicked at the thought that she was going to have to leave. She held his hand tighter. "I'm so sorry that I caused you pain, because that was all I was trying to avoid. Maybe I was trying to avoid my own pain a little too, because you have this, this ability to make me feel everything more when I'm around you, and I was a coward." 

Her whole chest hurt. He did that to her, managed to lay his whole heart out with his words. It always took her breathe away, his words. She was looking at him now, her tears just falling, coffee cup forgotten in one hand, his hand tightly in the other. She stepped toward him, and their tears mixed a little as they kissed. She broke off, peeked into his eyes, smiled a little.

"You can have the rest of my coffee," my life. In that exact moment, she was prepared to give it all to him, her heart, her life, her son. Because she loved him in a way that pushed the reason out of her reasonable head. 

He smiled, fully, and nipped the mug out of her hand, making her laugh float up into the air. She took his, carrying it, empty now, as they wandered toward home.

They spent the day being. Enjoying the fact that they were together, at least briefly, and didn't have to hide their feelings for eachother. They laid on the couch, her on her side, propped up on the armrest, him flat in his back, head on the cushion. They talked, argued and laughed, she rubbed her hand in circles over his chest. He fell asleep briefly, and she let him, content to watch him. When their hunger couldn't be ignored anymore they had wandered into the kitchen, he automatically heading toward the coffee maker. She rolled her eyes and opened his fridge, forever marvelling at his ability to drink coffee continuously throughout the day. She encountered nearly nothing, turning to look at him incredulously.

"What the hell Barba? What do you eat, ya know, to live?" 

He stared at her blankly, jerked one shoulder at her and rolled his eyes like she was the one being crazy. 

"I have stuff. There's food." 

She knew his penchant for snacks, preferring them over real meals because they could be eaten quickly, on the go, as he continued on. She never imagined that his home life would be the same, though she supposed she shouldn't be shocked. She eventually found eggs that weren't questionable, and she made those while he poured two mugs of coffee. They ate, continued flowing between talking, laughing and arguing, finding time between it all to wrap themselves around eachother, showing the other what they couldn't quite articulate. 

At one point, when they were still in the livingroom, he had placed a record on the player, drawing her to him in the middle of his open space, with the trees and sun just outside. They hadn't quite danced, but had stood together, swaying hips placed together, listening to the sounds of Frank Sinatra. She tucked the moment into her memory, determined to leave it there for later when she needed him.

They were in his bed now, after one more encounter that had left them both breathless, and she was intentionally goading him by commenting on a politician's large head, smiling when he looked at her like she was crazy. 

"The man has been a senator for 20 years, and a controversial one at that, but you wanna talk about the size of his head?" 

He was sort of aware that she was fucking with him, intentionally getting a rise out of him. But she didnt care, as long as he was throwing that side eye in her direction, using the tone like he wondered if he was just smarter than everyone else. 

She scooted closer, settling in at his side, letting his arms wrap around her even as he looked at her like she was mildly dense. She smiled into his chest, obscuring it from his view. Shrugged.

"His head offends me. It's too wide on top. You'd think it would at least contain a big brain, but he can't manage to understand the basic tenets of consent." She pulled her head back, slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Did you see his testimony last week?" 

"Oh I was seeing red." 

God she had missed him, missed how all of her thoughts seemed to flow easily when he was there. Nothing was off limits, they discussed important things and stupid things and petty things, making eachother laugh. He spent a good few minutes making her shake with laughter as he described the dress that Rita Calhoun had worn to his mother's wake. She had seen it, but it didnt stop her from sucking in air as he described his aunt's reaction. "Ruffles on your rear end, to a funeral."

They spoke about his mother, her hand stroking down his face as he recounted the morning his aunt had called him, tears in her voice, to tell him that Lucia Barba was gone. How much it hurt him that they weren't speaking when it had happened. How he worried that she had died because he had broken her heart. She stroked his face, offering words of comfort where she could, offering herself when she had nothing left to say. 

Afterwards, they lay together, his head somewhere on her stomach, her on her back, both looking out the window.

"I know I said it already Rafa, but this place is so beautiful." 

He looked up, scooted off her and slipped up so that their eyes were aligned. Pushed her hair behind her.

"Listen. I know that you're going to say no, and I respect that you're going to say no, but I have to tell you that I want you to stay here with me. Just so you know."

Her breathe caught a little. Of course she knew, because there weren't really any secrets between them, but hearing the words still moved her. 

"And where, may I ask, do you suggest I stuff my seven year old? He's a little young for the latchkey, and Lucy likes to go home occasionally." She was teasing, hoping to combat her swimming eyes.

He swallowed a little. It was the first time she had brought the boy up, and he was careful to let her direct that, not wanting to take something that she wasn't offering after he had walked out of both of their lives. But now that she had mentioned him, he felt safer bringing the boy into the discussion. 

He grinned, trying to match her playful mood. "Naw... I was thinking maybe you bring him. I kinda like him." He took a deep breath, looked her in her eyes. "He can come out here, and I'll use him as an excuse to get a dog. Does he still like dogs?" It was something that they had shared, their mutual love of dogs. It was the first thing that had softened Rafael to the child, and they had spent time together pointing out dogs that they liked in the park. 

Olivia nodded. "Oh he still adores dogs. He still talks about dogs all the time, asks me when he can see dogs. It's been a while, but I think He misses dogs almost as much as I do." There was just the faintest edge in her voice, some small resentment on behalf of her boy who missed this man. She knew that it wasn't fair, that Rafael wasn't his father, or even a father figure to the boy when he had left. They had formed a friendship, and Rafael Barba left an impression, even when you were six years old. 

He winced a little, ducking his head. She stroked the back of his hair, forgiving before he could even apologize. He peeked back up, offering her that crooked grin.

"If you went home, chucked that kid in your car and came back with him and your toothbrushes, I would lock you both in this house for the rest of your lives. With our four dogs." He deadpanned it, his expression clear, but her laugh forced the smile out of him.

She stroked his arm. "I know. And you have no idea what that means to me."

He nodded. "I know. Responsibilities." He gave her a sad smile. "I just needed you to know." 

They stayed like that for a long time, her eyes only drifting toward the clock once they realized that the sky had begun to darken. She had been here for nearly twenty four hours. It was almost time to go. She pushed in a little closer, feeling his skin, smelling him mixed with the smell of her. She gave herself a few more moments of this before she had to let the reality of their lives in.


	5. Chapter 5

"So you'll approach Keisha Charles, tell her what we talked about. This is the kind of case that could make her career. Just appeal to her ambition." She nodded.

They were standing on his porch, the sun was setting behind him. She had the file in one hand, his hand in the other. They were both showered, he was dressed, shirt tucked into his pants, suspenders and a jacket. It was almost as though nothing had happened, and she was still staring at him on his side porch after a four hour drive. But she smelled like his shampoo and her body ached from their lovemaking. She was back in her own clothes, save for the Harvard t-shirt that she still wore instead of her button up. He didnt ask for it back. It was late, after five, and she was likely going to miss Noah's bedtime, but she couldn't make herself get into the car. He was dressed for a dinner meeting, something about securing donors for a project that he had started with one of his classes. This was it. They were going to go back to their real lives, and she was in so much pain. She was grateful for it though. She was old enough to understand that you can't always get what you want exactly when you want it, but she felt like she was hopeful enough to understand that sometimes the love was enough, even if the ending didn't turn out the way you had hoped. She could be bitter, but she chose to let this change her. Let him change her. They had to go their separate ways, she back to her life's work and he to stay with his. Because it wasn't about him, or her, or them. It was about what they could do. Together or even apart. It was the piece of themselves that they shared, the part that made them so alike even when they were so different. The need to help. To do something good. It didn't make this easy, but life wasn't easy. 

She let her tears form a little, but pulled them back before they fell. Not now, not in this moment. There would be plenty of time for that later. She looked at him. He was clean and shaven and looking at her like she might be killing him. She knew the feeling.

She stepped into his space. "Its ok. We'll be ok." 

He looked at his shoes, back up at her. "You'll be great. You always are. And you need to be out there, working for them. You're needed out there, Liv. But I am right here. Always here, whenever you need me. For anything." He said it all a little fiercely, and if it was possible, she found herself loving him more. He was making it ok that she had to go, while telling her what she meant to him. He was offering the gift that she had given him over a year ago, except that he was brave enough to say what she meant to him.

She stepped into his space, kissing him hard one more time. They didn't make plans or promises. They both knew that to make them would be pointless. This was goodbye. With hope. She hoped. She did have hope now, but not the anticipatory kind. Just hope. Because no matter how this played out, she knew that he loved her. And that really was enough. 

After kissing him one more time, she let go of his hand and started down the steps, making it all the way to her car before she turned back. He was standing there, looking just exactly like him, jacket on, head tilted, with that look, the one that was just for her, on his face. 

"I'm right here." He was steady, one hand in his pocket, only his eyes betraying how much this was hurting him. "If you're ever ready." She nodded. Thought about her boy running through this space, with a dog by his side. Thought about spending the rest of her life up here, in this beautiful home with the man standing fifteen feet from her. Knew that she would be happy. 

She nodded again, her hand on the door of her car.

"Dont disappear on me again. I need you to be me, ok?" He swallowed, nodded. She thought quickly. "I want to hear about how the funding goes. I want your input on this case. So we'll talk soon." She needed to give him a reason to call her, or contact her. It was beneath her, but she was effectively trapping him into speaking to her again.

"I will." 

They stared. They didn't say it, they both already knew. She slipped into the car, drove away. He stayed on the porch until she was out of view.


	6. Chapter 6

Months passed. She continued with her work, fighting everyday to bring some measure of peace to the victims. They continued to talk, on the phone, through email. Between that contact, there was missing him, but she grew accustomed to it, almost learning to enjoy it now that she knew that it would build, getting more intense as each day passed, and that the eventual payout would be worth it. Almost. They saw eachother only when that missing got to be so unbearable that she found herself on the highway, heading toward him. He never came to her, respecting the careful balance of her life with her child, not wanting to disrupt that. But on the days that she showed up at his door, wordlessly coming in, she never had to question whether or not he would be too busy, or weary of her. He always dropped everything. 

They snatched the small snippets of time, locking themselves away for the evening, for a few hours, and once, blessedly, for an entire weekend, when Noah had gone to a sleepaway camp. She knew even then that she shouldn't leave the city, that as his mother she should stay close in case he had needed her. She went anyway. She was learning to do that a little, take small things for herself. It wasn't so much that she had gotten weaker, but more that she now had something that was worth taking. So she had spent the weekend at that beautiful house, drinking the wine that he now kept in his kitchen, falling asleep on his couch with him under her, incredible music floating around her. Etta James, Tom Petty, Aretha Franklin, Barbara Streisand. His varied music collection was as impressive as his taste in literature, the phrases and quotes of which just seemed to sit in his head. He had always found connections between literature and life, likening a situation to something of Shakespearean proportions. That flair for drama had aided him in the courtroom, and now it made him an enigmatic lecturer. She liked to listen to him talk. 

It had been over a month since she had last seen him, having left work early to drive up to his home for only a few hours, leaving once the sun had fallen to arrive home and give her sleeping boy a kiss. And she was edgy. The cases had been rough, and she spent many days feeling like she was losing an unwinnable battle. But if she was being honest, she had been on edge since she had left his home six weeks ago, and the tension had grown into an outright foul mood that wouldn't seem to dissipate. 

She was standing in her office, Rollins on the other side of the desk. The other woman was worn, her hair tossed up, a file in her hand. Another rough week. They had just finished discussing the last case, and Rollins was preparing to leave and deliver the file to Keisha Charles, who if Olivia was being fair about, was excellent. But she wasn't feeling very fair. She just wanted him back. She actually wanted to be at that beautiful house, listening to him talk, touching him. And her resentment over the fact that she couldn't be was building to unbearable heights. 

Rollins tapped the file against her hand. 

"Rough week. Especially for you."

Olivia didn't reply so the other woman shifted. Turned toward the door. Looked back.

"Listen, Liv, I'd love to have Noah for the weekend. I have both days off, and I was plan'n on taking the girls out, maybe enjoy the zoo, go to the park, and Noah would love all that. You could use the break." There was a pause. "Maybe get away."

She looked over at the other woman, saw her raised eyebrows and tentative gaze. Of course she knew. Or at least suspected. They stared at eachother for a second, Olivia hesitating. She had gotten better recently about doing things for herself, because, honestly that thing that she did for herself had just become too good not to do. But she was still her, and it still made her feel like a bad mother to leave her child after a long week to spend the weekend with a man. Even that man. 

"Come on Liv. You're a good mother. You deserve to take some time for you. He's a happy, safe little boy. It'll do him some good to spend some time with Jesse, it gives him confidence to play protector." Amanda smiled. She was working hard. Olivia looked at the other woman.

"I'm not the only one who could use some me time." 

"I don't need to drive for four hours to be happy." Amanda immediately winced. She had crossed the line a little, but the statement was said with concern and love.

Olivia recognized that, so she let it slide. 

"You really don't have to do that." But she wanted her to. Oh she wanted to drive up there. See him. Remind herself again.

"I'm doing it. Don't let that kid miss out on monkeys and ice cream and the park because you're being stubborn." 

Olivia smiled, grateful for this bond that had formed, this woman who knew exactly what she needed to say in order to make it ok for her to go. She nodded.

 

She stopped on the way, buying the ingredients for a pasta dish. She had taken to doing that since she had gotten tired of his hard pretzels, dried snacks and coffee. He never said anything, but he was always nearly as happy to see the tote bag over her shoulder as he was to see her. She loved doing small things to take care of him, so she bought food that he never thought to instruct his cleaning woman to purchase.

She stopped the car, grabbed the bag and practically jogged up the steps, reflecting on the difference between her approach now and the first time she had been here. She had been sick with apprehension then, and now she would almost describe what she was feeling as giddy. 

She knocked on the door, heard him approaching. He was talking. He swung the door open, cell phone to his ear. Still dressed for work. She wanted to bite him. He looked, his eyebrows shot up, his mouth curved. 

"Oh thank God," he muttered to his confused caller, promptly hitting end call and tossing the phone on a nearby chair. He reached for her, pulled her to him by her waist, rolling his eyes at her like she already knew what the world had done to annoy them. Yep. She was giddy. He crushed his mouth against hers.

She wrapped her hands up in his hair. "Was that important?" She asked it as they broke apart. He kissed her again. "Not nearly enough," he muttered against her mouth. 

They never made it to the pasta. She was naked, in his bed, reading something he had left scribbled on the yellow legal pad that he still used. They had spent the evening drinking (he still kept her wine in the house) and torturing eachother by peeling off their clothes piece by piece in his bedroom. He had growled in her ear a little when he had entered her, and she was replaying that sound in her head while she blatantly snooped through his work. He was next to her, flat on his back with one knee raised, his hand on his bare stomach.

"Is this for a lecture? Its beautiful." She could only read two thirds of his scrawling handwriting, but she got the gist. She tended to read his writing in his voice, knowing when it would rise in indignation or when he would pause for affect. 

"Uh, no. Mission statement." 

She scanned through the words again. Advocating through education and healing, using culture to influence the law so the law could change the culture. The closing summed up the mission perfectly. That they were dedicated to finding a solution for a cultural problem, so that no man or woman would ever have to sweep up the mess of someone's deepest tragedy again. Her chest tightened. 

"Is this what the funding was for? That project?" 

He scooted up a little, resting his head on a pillow, glanced at her, and then resumed staring at the ceiling. 

"Yeah, but it's actually a foundation."

"You started a foundation?" She shook her head. Of course he had. That was actually very on brand for him. 

He smirked a little. "Yes. I started a foundation." He glanced at the yellow legal pad. Swallowed a little. "You said that to me once, you know." She looked down at his writing, a little confused.

"You said to me that you were sick and tired of cleaning up after the mess, and that just once you wished you could fix it all before it happened." 

He was intently staring into her eyes now. She looked back down at the yellow legal pad, and then back at him. It was all sort of clicking into place. She remembered sitting in a darkened bar, frustrated as he took the force of her anger in stride.

"Did you, you didn't start a foundation because of me, did you?" She was already crying a little, now holding the legal pad against her sheet covered chest like it was a gift.

He jerked a shoulder, his physical version of "no big deal." She rolled her eyes, resisted the urge to slap him a little. He loved her. He had been out there that whole time, loving her in action. They hadn't even been together when he had started this, working with his victim protection law class to begin the process. So he was out there, still fighting her fight because he had allowed his love for her to change him. And she was so moved by that she didn't even really have the words for it. 

She scooted closer, still holding the legal pad against her and laid out next to him. He immediately put his arm under her, cradling her into his side. 

"Tell me about it. Tell me about the foundation."

He did tell her, sliding from vague embarrassment (it was all for her) to his default intensity, rattling off statistics about the correlation between poverty and sexual assault, and the thin line that separates victims and perpetrators. How the project had started small-scale, but that the response had been bigger than he had expected. She rolled her eyes at that. He could sell a tricycle to a man looking for a car, he was so persuasive, and he was shocked that people were taken in by his passion? The program worked to help survivors of sexual assault by addressing matters such as PTSD through rigorous therapy and classes dedicated to the development of coping skills. These survivors could learn how to teach these classes as well, graduating into teachers and advocates, so that they could use their stories in the community. He wanted it to become mandatory curriculum for students in the state to hear the stories of women who had survived sexual assault, and how it had affected their lives, and was already lobbying for it. So his foundation, which had started as a therapy center, and evolved into a network that was dedicated to healing, giving victims a voice, and educating communities in order to prevent another trauma, which had all been born from his wonderful mind, because he had listened to her, and seen her in a way that no one ever really had. Her whole chest was tight, her eyes swimming just staring at the literature and visuals that he had retrieved from his office. They were sitting up, she had pulled on his shirt. She was clutching plans for a therapy center, with live-in quarters and peaceful grounds, somewhere a person could really heal. 

"Rafa, I, I dont even know what to say. This is perfect."

He glanced up, smiled at her. He had started a foundation for her. He didn't say it, but she knew. He had heard everything that she had said to him over the years, and in true Barba fashion, he had done something about it. She was once again struck by the absurdity of his love for her. She faintly shook her head a little. 

"When can I, I want, I want to get involved in all of this. Don't think you can show me all of this and then leave me out."

He smiled, fully now. "Please. I wouldn't dream of it. I had to hide it from you this long. Didn't want to you to take it and do it better than I would." She rolled her eyes, climbing across the papers to kiss him. He put a hand on her face, looking suddenly a little vulnerable, maybe even nervous.

"You could come out and see the facilities if you want. I'm doing a walk through next weekend." 

This was new territory. He had never asked her to come to him, she had never asked to come. They had both just existed until the need became so unbearable that she was just there one day. He never wanted to take more than she could give, and she was in a constant struggle to balance her needs and the needs of a little boy that needed his mother.

She hesitated, running a hand down his face. He leaned into a little, and she had to tamp down on that urge again, the one to wrap him up and promise to never leave. 

"I can't be away from Noah two weekends in a row."

He ran a finger down his own nose, sniffing a little as he glanced down at a photo of the center.

"Bring him." He was feigning indifference, trying to be more casual than he felt. She made like she was going to resist. He shifted tactics, looked her dead on.

"Liv, bring him. I miss him. He can spend the weekend in some grass, and I promise he doesn't need to know what's happening here," his hand gestured between them. 

She snorted a little. "He's seven, not blind."

He could already feel her caving, held a hand up. "Promise, no funny business." He paused. "Until he's sleeping." 

She laughed, giving into the urge to slide on top of him, kiss him.

"Fine, but you asked for it."


	7. Chapter 7

She had gone upstairs, grabbing Noah's overnight bag to set him up in the guestroom. They arrived without incident, and Noah had been excited to see his uncle, the only indication that over a year had passed being that the boy clung to Rafael for a moment longer than he usually did. Rafael had seemed slightly out of his depth, as though it shocked him that he was missed enough to elicit the reaction. His lack of awareness regarding his own charm had her warring between the desire to slap him and hug him. 

When she left them outside, Noah had been kicking a soccer ball around the yard, muttering to himself about his own game as though he were the announcer. Rafael had been on the porch, one foot up on the railing, scribbling something onto a yellow legal pad for his Monday morning lecture. Rafael had been right. Noah had not stopped moving since they had gotten here, seemingly endlessly thrilled by all of the sheer space that he was encountering. If the boy was apprehensive in any way, he wasn't showing it. 

She snuck into Rafael's room to hang up some of her clothes, running her hand over his white shirt, hung toward the back, with the bottom two buttons still missing. Smiling to herself, she recalled that night when she had allowed herself him because she believed it was a one off. Or she had told herself that at the time. It didnt really matter how they had gotten here though. They were here, and her boy was on that lawn.

She walked back down the stairs after laying Eddie, his favorite blanket and the few toys he had brought out onto the bed in the guestroom. She had placed her bag in Barba's office, hoping the little boy wouldnt question where she would be sleeping. As she rounded the couch to reach for the side door, she heard the tinny sound of her son's giggles. She could see them, both now together where Barba had been sitting, her boy between the man's legs, both facing the yellow legal pad on the low table. Rafael's arms were around him and Noah was holding the expensive pen that he had been using, drawing a face of some kind right over the scrawl of Barba's handwriting. Barba nipped the pen out of the little boy's hand, it seemed as though they were taking turns, each drawing one feature of the face. 

Her little boy squealed. "You can't give him a nose that big!" 

Barba dipped a nose briefly into the boy's curls, continued drawing. "Watch me, kid." 

They continued drawing, each adding a small ear, or glasses, an upturned mouth, creating a picasso mess of a person.

"Uncle Rafa, why did you have to go away all that time?" She stayed where she was. She had asked a similar question once, and her boy deserved an explanation.

He sighed, squeezed her son a little. Noah turned in his arms, and wrapped his small hands around the man's suspenders. Her heart took a photo of that moment. 

He sniffed a little, he did that when he was biting down on emotions. "Cuz papi, I was a little sad, and I didn't want to make other people sad." 

The little boy nodded, his small hand going up to touch Barba's face, stroking his little hand down his cheek. She smiled to herself. Over seven years she had resisted that exact urge, and there her son was, just offering up that love on instinct. He would be perfectly fine.

"And you live here now?" 

"Yeah I live here now, but I missed you and I'm glad you're here to visit me."

Noah sort of bounced from side to side, letting his little body bounce off the sides of Barba's legs. 

"Cuz of your new job? At the foundation?" He tried the large word, it feeling a little foreign on his young lips. 

Barba smiled, tapped his nose against the boy's. She watched both those perfect little hands come up, land on the sides of Rafael's jaw in a gesture of trust. She knew that they had become friends before Rafael had left, but hadn't let herself think about how much they had meant to eachother. Now that she was looking at it square on, the dawning of it terrified her, and warmed her endlessly. 

"That's not my job mijo, that's just something I do. I'm a teacher now, remember?" 

"Why do have two jobs then?" Her son was squirming closer, burrowing into his dress shirt, small hand playing with his collar. Both of Barba's hands came around, briefly pulled the little boy in for a hug. She watched her son experimentally smell Rafael, and her heart sort of split open again. She wanted to give him everything, including that man. She wanted to give them to eachother. If she could figure out how. 

"Because papi, we want to be good people, right?" The little boy nodded, Barba looked him in his eyes. She had always loved the way he had spoken to her son. Carefully, thoughtfully, but never with the same regard that most adults had for children. It seemed as though Barba's relative inexperience with children had actually worked in his favor, because he never treated Noah like his thoughts or feelings weren't important. 

"And to be good, really good, like the way your mommy is, we have to have good thoughts" Barba's finger brushed the boy's forehead, "speak kind words" his finger tapped the boy's mouth, and her son smiled, squirming in a little closer. "But we also have to do good things, because otherwise we didn't make everything a little better than what it was." 

"So your second job will make everything better?" 

Barba smiled, nodded at the child. 

"Hopefully a little." 

"So just like mommy's job."

"See? Smart boy, you get it." 

Noah glowed under the compliment, his beautiful face shining. Because he wasn't afflicted with the inhibitions of adults, he boosted himself up off Rafael's lap and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders. Barba returned the hug, those expressive green eyes turning into the curly dark hair of her son. She could barely contain herself. She hadn't been sure about bringing Noah into all of this. He had left once and nearly broken her in the process. But all this time, she had worried over her son, and wondered if she was making the right decisions. But there he was, sitting there, effortlessly showing her son what it meant to be a man, a decent person, by simply being him. Almost all of her reservations slid away. He might not be a Lego dad or a video game dad, but the man she loved would help her guide her child into being a good and decent man. She paused. Her mind had finally caught up with her heart. He could do this. They could do this together. In this house. With her boy and those four dogs he mentioned. She thought of the victims, of her work. But she also thought of this foundation that he had started, for her. There would always be victims. She could start a new chapter, without leaving herself behind. She could let herself be happy. Let him be happy. Let her child be happy. 

She stepped out onto the porch.


	8. Four Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to fulfill the request for an epilogue, because if we don't give eachother the endings we want, then who will? Thanks for reading.

Olivia walked down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, snagging her jacket off its hook as she passed. 

"Phone?" 

She glanced into the kitchen where Rafael was pouring his coffee, dressed for the hearing, wearing his grey suit. 

"Good morning to you too. I dont know. Try the couch. Noah had it." 

"Noah, dont touch my phone!" She called into the general direction of nowhere as she moved into the living room, snagging the phone off the couch. She quickly moved back to the bench outside the kitchen to put her shoes on. She was already late. She had a meeting with the board in an hour to review the proposal for an expansion of their facilities, and she was already mad at herself for running behind. This meeting was important, she had to be sharp. This expansion would extend their work into the city, offering local services to survivors in Manhattan, and she knew better than anyone that the need for counseling services and education was far greater in the city than anywhere else. 

Neither one of them had slept much that week, staying awake late into the night, she working on this proposal and he preparing for the testimony hearing. Olivia herself had coached the victims, working with the five women and one man to help them reach a point where they were strong enough and ready to testify. It had taken awhile, but she was confident that she picked the right people, so Rafael had begun working with them on their testimonies, coaching them for nearly a year. And they were finally here, ready to go before a congretional delegation and tell them their stories. So many times during the week she had had to go into Rafael's office, wake him up off his desk or the couch that he had fallen asleep on, and remind him that he had to hug his children, and sleep in a bed. She did all of this only to wait until he was sleeping to flick her light on, grab her glasses and get to work until he rolled over and stole those glasses, wordlessly turning her light off and tossing her work on the floor at his side of the bed. Between them they had gotten maybe enough sleep for one person. She had gotten up with their daughter last night to let Rafael sleep so he would be sharp for the preliminary hearing this morning. She was feeling the four hours of sleep hard.

They were so close. She needed the law in New York to catch up, make it mandatory curriculum to teach students about the effects of sexual violence. She had spent twenty years cleaning up the messes and now she was determined to prevent them from happening. She pushed the rest of her day out of her head, trying to focus on one thing at a time. She had to drive Christy Banner out to the city, stay with her while she I.D.'d her attacker, and Christy was an emotional wild card, which is why Olivia insisted on taking care of this. No one else in the organization had twenty years of experience, no one else would know what to say the way she did. But she pushed it from her mind, determined to focus on each problem as it came.

She abandoned her shoes for a moment, getting up to head into the kitchen. He was standing in front of the counter, two lunch boxes in front of him, one pink with a cartoon police girl on it, the other a plain blue. She sighed, remembering when that plain blue bag used to have cute characters on it as well. 

"When did we buy turkey?" He tossed it on the counter, looking at it suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes. He never stepped foot in a grocery store. "Where's my coffee?" 

He didn't look at her, slid her coffee down the counter, already doctored with her cream and sugar. She never made coffee. She snagged it off the counter, leaning against it to watch him toss items into the lunch bags.

"The scotch bottle was noticeably lower." She raised her eyebrows over the mug.

He glanced up from the bag of carrots he was dumping into sandwich bags, raised one eyebrow. "Keeping tabs on my alcohol consumption?" 

"Yep. One of us has to." If it was a staring contest he wanted, she was willing to play. She leaned until they were touching shoulders. They both knew she would win. "If I recall correctly, your doctor all but begged you to lay off the brown alcohol." 

He sucked a little air in through his nose, rolled his eyes and turned his attention away from the lunches, to face her. "Fine. Less scotch. But you're sleeping tonight." He raised his eyebrows, cut off her argument. "Real sleep. Like a human person would."

She leaned over, kissed the side of his mouth. "I'll be in bed by one."

"Eleven." He looked irritated.

"Midnight." She smiled, knowing it would just irritate him more.

He paused, regarded her like he was actually debating her offer. "Deal." She slid between him and the counter, fixed his tie. 

"So. How much of the scotch did you dump down the drain to win that one?"

He didn't miss a beat. "About half of it." 

Her laugh was interrupted as Ayanna ran into the room, with a sheet of paper clutched in her hands. 

"Done!" The little girl yelled it like her spelling words were an obstacle course.

Rafael snatched the paper, and went back to chucking items into the brightly colored lunch boxes in front of him.

"Mmhm. Only 14 hours late." He scanned through the words. "Right. Right. Right. Wrong." He handed the paper back to the girl. "Fix it, dear."

"Which one!?" She was indignant, and Olivia smiled. 

"Give you a hint. You can't write in a notbook. They dont exist."

The little girl threw herself into a kitchen chair, rolling her eyes. Olivia smiled again, making a mental note to beg Barba to stop the habit himself so their daughter had a shot of kicking it before it was too late. She went back to the bench to get her shoes.

Noah burst into the kitchen, heading right for the plate of eggs that Rafael must have already made. Rafael held up two different yogurts, Noah pointed at the strawberry one and Rafael threw it into the blue lunch box. 

Olivia sat back down, shimmied her foot into the boot, debated telling her son not to touch her phone again. Rafael was already speaking.

"Ok monsters, Mom's working late tonight so make sure you pretend to like her before she leaves. As long as court doesn't run late I should be home to make you dinner, but for the love of God be kind to Maggie and do your homework."

Ayanna hopped out of her seat, bringing her homework to Olivia. Olivia wrapped her arms around the little girl as Rafael rinsed the plates. She scanned the words. Kissed her cheek and nodded her approval. 

"Go show Daddy." 

Instead of handing him the paper, Ayanna just hopped and let him catch her. He settled her on his hip and took the now crinkled homework from her.

"Don't think I didn't catch you going to the good cop." He muttered into the little girl's ear, briefly raspberrying the child's neck. "Good job. All fixed."

The little girl's hand was rubbing the hair on the back of his neck. She tucked her head under his chin, peeking up at Rafael while he threw sandwiches into the lunch bags. "Daddy?" She was working him. Olivia smirked. "After my spelling test, can we have ice cream if I get a good grade?" His nose bounced off the child's. "You can have all the ice cream. There'll be none left when we're done with the ice cream." Sucker. 

"Mom my zippers stuck." Noah was in front of her, frowning at the coat that he wore. Olivia worked to free the zipper while Ayanna retrieved her sneakers from the front hall. Rafael grabbed his briefcase and tossed it onto the pile of backpacks, and then added the kids' lunchboxes. Olivia freed the zipper, which earned her a kiss from the wavy haired boy, each of his hands landing on her face while he offered up the affection that he reserved for days when he knew he wouldn't see her at night. 

She smoothed the boy's coat. "You feed the dogs?" He nodded. "And walked them?" 

Noah shifted. "I let them out."

She stared the boy down. "Walk them tonight."

"I hate walking them. They all get twisted around eachother."

She stood, kissed his head. "Make dad help you. He was the one that swore you guys were picking up one dog." She smiled, remembering her ecstatic boy with a pile of dogs on him in the middle of her lawn, and Barba having the gall to deny that he had gotten pulled in by the charm of an eight year old, trying to reason that he had deliberately chosen to get so many dogs so they could entertain eachother. They both had known it was crap, but she resisted the urge to slap him and pretended she bought his thin excuse because her boy was so happy, about the dogs yes, but also because he had seen the look in his dad's eye when he agreed to the extra dogs. Like he was the only cause for Rafael's weakness, that his happiness had power over the man. Something had shifted between the two after that day, and they transitioned from stepdad and stepson to father and son.

"Alright. Shoes tied, girl cute, homework done." Barba stood at the kitchen counter with their daughter perched in front of him. Ayanna was wearing her pink cotton dress and white sneakers, the ones with the pink laces. She and Olivia had purchased them last weekend when the girl had insisted on the pair over the nikes that Olivia had reached for.

"Payment time." Rafael bent down a little, his hands on either side of the small girl on the counter. She giggled. He tapped his cheek. "One shoe." She kissed it, loudly. He tapped the other cheek. "The other shoe." She kissed that one as well. He tapped his mouth. "So I win at court." The little girl grabbed his face and kissed his mouth while he snagged her off the counter and hugged her to him before letting her down. Olivia smiled, looking back down at her bag before he caught her staring. Looked at the beautiful little girl in front of her. Olivia had spent the last four years working with her daughter's biological mother, helping her to get clean, to secure employment and to find the strength to testify to a grand jury about what her ordeal had done to her, how it had affected her life. They were both doing this for the small girl that was dancing through the kitchen.

"Ok I have a girl child and I have a boy child. Let's go." Rafael herded the kids toward the door, whacking Noah on his backside with his briefcase.

"Are we getting ice cream tonight?" 

"Ha. You'll be lucky if I let even look at ice cream. Stop torturing your nanny."

"Dad, I said sorry-" 

"A lovely gesture which admits guilt. There are still consequences."

"Dad-"

"We'll negotiate on the way to school. Kiss me so I win. Or do it in front of your friends." 

He snaked a hand out, making sure to stab a finger into the boy's side until he squealed. Noah gave him a kiss, and Olivia caught his brief snuggle before he wiggled away. She sighed, knowing that they only had so many more years to appreciate that reluctant joy at being cuddled.

She stood up, grabbing her bag and heading into the front hall. She gave both the kids kisses and instructions for their nightly chores and homework, stroking her hands through their hair so she could catch the scent of their shampoo. Barba swung the door open, the kids already arguing about where they were getting ice cream. She grabbed his arm, pulled him back.

"What?"

"Don't need my kisses to win? Got another girl now?" 

He snorted through his nose, briefly crushed his mouth to hers. Groaned. "We have to have sex within the next century." He muttered it against her mouth.

She smiled, rubbed her nose against his jaw. "I think I can muster some energy tonight." 

He let out a quick laugh, leaned into her ear. "We've been saying that for the last three nights. But I'll cross my fingers." He paused, met her eyes. "But you're still sleeping. Like a human person." She kissed his jaw, gave him a small push. She felt rejuvenated by the contact, stronger. He was down the front steps, holding Ayanna's hand while he argued with Noah. 

"Barba." 

He turned, rolling his eyes at the kids giggling at her rare use of their last name.

"We can't sleep." She paused. "I think we need to duplicate this in every state that doesn't already have it." She shrugged.

He flicked his gaze down her body, back up. Snorted.

"Thirteen." He smirked at her. "I already compiled a list of the states that dont have similar laws. It's going to take years, but I figure we start with Pennsylvania." He paused, looked slightly panicked. "But that doesn't change tonight's activity." He knew that she was as driven as he was. 

She laughed out loud, feeling invincible.


End file.
